


Silhouette

by Brice_Gottlieb



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Age Diffrence, Clothing Kink, Congress Out Of Wedlock, Escorts, Fallen Wives, Feminization, M/M, Mutual Pining, Prostitution, Victorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 12:07:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4478699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brice_Gottlieb/pseuds/Brice_Gottlieb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of chapters featuring individual ships in Victorian Era settings, mainly focused on clothing and the removal of said clothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silhouette

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emono](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emono/gifts).



His fingers held talent.

 

 

He was a Gent in the simplest of terms, walking the fine line between dignified and tramp. The inn had been bustling and Michael easily noted him as the most interesting character there. Inked hands (not ink stained like the printers' apprentice, but genuinely marked) curled around a beer. Against the table top, the black etchings appeared as ritualistic symbols burned into the woodgrain. Of course Michael made his way across the smoky room to refill the Gent's glass. There had been casual touches and gentle words. Then Michael pouted a bit, let the beer run thin as the conversation turned soft. It wasn't much to lead the man upstairs.

 

 

Now those clever hands worked their way through the lacing of his corset. Braced against the bedding, Michael gasped in practiced tones of helplessness. Gavin's hard work went spoiled each night, but never so finely as this. Those tight corded ribbons and drawstrings were ripped at for pennies and replaced by morning. Not this time, however. This Gent had the state of mind not to rid him of the fastenings completely, instead pulling and prying in just the right places until Michael could fumble at the busk. Delicate blue cloth, soft as kittens' breath, held shape as it fell to the bedding. 

 

The Gent marveled at the bare skin before him. Taking his time as Michael's 'guests' so rarely do, he spread palms over freckled shoulders and down pale ribs now free of their cloth cage. Untouched by sunlight, plump and soft to the touch, Michael's hips canted invitingly before pulling away. 

 

"You must be used to this," he teased lightly, crawling higher along the mattress. Flocked by pillows, the beautiful harlot cupped at his chest, auburn curls let splay across the white sheets. He wore no chemise, no drawers like the upper class ladies he tried to emulate. The fashionable dress he wore was unaccented by petticoats or camisole. The fabrics were unprotected from his skin, hung against his curves and the contours of his legs. The effect was both immodest and amusing; a fair lad in the place of lady, ready for no more than the most carnal of joys with the removal of two layers of cloth. 

 

The Gent ran that same admiring hand through shag cut hair. Michael may have never had much in ways of schooling, but he had a certain kind of uncanny intelligence that was hard to quantify. This man had caught interest. Now, who was he?

 

 

Before a man can order Michael undressed for his barest fees, the little doxy could tell what would get him off. From the shape of his body, Michael could predict if the guest wouldd be stripped of his clothing or simply unbutton just enough to commit to what he paid for. The state of his coats would allow Michael opportunity to prepare for a poke around the alleyway or a bedding in the brilliantly lit room. Well bred men will fuck him languidly and glance at themselves in darkened windows, always watching how his cock thrust within the wailing lad. They cum with no hurry and part with it slowly, parting with Michael much faster. Ugly men fuck him as if eyes will breed from the walls, hastily and with as little effort needed. They pull back in the last moment and stripe Michael's cheeks and lashes as if blotting out a hated sight. 

 

The key is in the dress. Should a man hide his palms in his jacket pocket, he may want those hidden hands on what little breast Michael had to offer, squeezing with gentle passion and dipping between his thighs to pet at the softest bits of him. A tie worn much too tight ensures the guest will choke Michael as soon as possible and often throughout the night. 

 

 

As this Gent lays over Michael, taking time and kissing at hips made lovely by care, Michael begins to undress him. Men have a way of putting their littlest of humiliations on those who lay beneath them under cover of darkness. He must have some defect, some clue that will prepare Michael. What, and where, was the key to this tramp?

 

 

A high hairline, not yet balding: hardly self conscious about his appearances, yet not well made. Comfortable in his clothing. Michael looks to the Gents' face: an unbroken nose, clear eyes, and a pinkness to the high of his cheeks. A tattoo peeks at Michael even from the loosened collar of his shirt and there it is. 

 

The Gent is made to sit up as Michael does, urged to sit back as Michael's hands push. The harlot climbs up onto his lap, too old for that sort of thing, and rests his cheek to the crook of his shoulder. Michael is unsure what to say, but in his mind is reassured that the words will come, just as whatever dirty words men want to hear bubble up out of instinct. He clings to this Gent, nude against the rough wool and linens of his guest, and slips a finger over the line of buttons that kept a waistcoat closed up. 

 

"Maybe we can get you a little more comfortable?" he suggests, almost impishly.

 

It's not long before he's being pushed back on the plush bed, covered by a handsome body and lavished with touch and kiss.

 

\--

 

Gavin whined longingly, taking the corset off proper and running his light fingertips across the marks and scrapes. Michael was all aglow in the mirror before him. He watched like an excited child showing off his prized possession and every brush of Gavin's hand elicited a chill of remembrance. The whole night hung heavy in the air, a fantastic tale retold by Michael for his maid and confidant. 

 

"His name was Geoff," Michael said with repletion, the name gilded on his tongue. He smiled wide without the faintest regret as he leaned closer to the mirror, admiring each hickey left across his throat.

 

 

Somewhere out in the night, a shabby genteel was admiring the marks left on his own body...running fingers longingly over teethmarks in the ink of his tattoo. _ **  
**_


End file.
